Fucking

“I want you on top of me,” I answer. “I want you to ride me. SLOW-ly.”

“Ok then,” you say.

And you climb up.

As you lower yourself onto my cock, we both have that sensation that’s unlike any other sensation, and that’s unknowable by anyone of the other sex. I can’t know precisely what you’re feeling, but Kendra Holliday described it pretty fucking well here, I suspect.

As for me, what I’m feeling is different, but similar:

First, foremost, it feels warm, enclosing, engulfing, comfortable, safe. Sliding my cock into you, into your cunt, delivers me a sensation akin to swaddling, or to lying under a heavy blanket on a cold winter morning, or putting on a really comfortable pair of soft slippers. Only it’s my cock that’s getting this feeling, not my feet.

But it’s more than that. There’s the sense of merger, of joining: if my cock is in you, then I’m in you, and as you wrap around me, engulf me, we become one. Well, not completely one, but certainly a lot like one. Whether I know and love you, or we’ve just met, for the moment, our entire purpose in life is the same. We want the same thing: to feel really fucking good, and to do it together. We each want to use the other’s body to make us feel insanely yummy.

And there’s the selfish, solitary experience as well: if I’m fucking you, if you’re on my cock, I’m lifting you up and down, sliding you back and forth, using your body, your cunt, to give to me precisely the stimulation that I want. Yeah, I want to give you pleasure too, but I know from experience that, generally speaking, the way for me to do this best is to make your pleasure entirely subordinate to mine. So as I grab your hips and push, pull, lift, lower, as I pace myself, to allow maximal sensation, to delay as long as possible (or as long as I want) the inevitable explosion, you feel my cock filling you, stimulating the various interior parts of your pussy, the back, the front, the sides, the top, the bottom, as you feel the friction (or the slipperiness, or both) of my cock sliding in and out, pounding, or pressing, or gliding.

If all goes well, we’ll both have our versions of these sensations and we’ll both be ready for the ride to end at, plus or minus, the same time. The nature of these things is that I’m the one who generally declares “game over” by filling you with my cum, and that generally is game over. Not always. Not exclusively. But generally. But like I said – if all went well, we both are ready at the same time, and the end of the ride is itself delicious, anticipated, even needed.

There are other feelings involved in fucking: there’s the feeling of dirtiness, of primal fulfillment, of community (I’m doing this thing, we’re doing this thing, that almost every other human does). I guess maybe I have to write more on this subject….